


Prophecy

by AmandaHuffleduck



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Depression, M/M, Snape Lives, Virgin Snape, werewolf cliches
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-08
Updated: 2014-02-08
Packaged: 2018-01-11 13:53:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,371
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1173845
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AmandaHuffleduck/pseuds/AmandaHuffleduck
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>"…And either must die at the hand of the other for neither can live while the other survives…"</i> [Order of the Phoenix]</p>
<p>Bugger that! Severus Snape has his own prophesy to untangle.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Prophecy

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted 2008, probably on Lupin_Snape_Lurve.

When Severus was eleven, in the Summer before he started at Hogwarts, his mother had taken him to a county fair. It'd been a memorable occasion for many reasons – he still couldn't bear the smell of candy floss – but there was one event that would have a strong impact on him in later years. 

_"In the time of the snake, when the serpent strikes, the moon-cursed's seed will give you back your life."_

Severus' Mam had sworn at the Muggle gypsy woman who'd accosted them, sending her off with a flea in her ear, then she'd pulled her startled and secretly enthralled son close and told him in no uncertain terms that he was to ignore what 'that thieving old sow' had said. 

Severus had dutifully promised that he would, then tried not to squirm under his mother's narrow-eyed regard. The gypsy had been the most extraordinary looking person he'd ever encountered, and she'd spoken – croaked – directly to _him_. He wasn't about to forget something as intriguing as this, and his Mam knew it. 

Nothing more was said about the incident however, and the pair continued on with their rare treat of a day away from the grinding greyness of home.

Later that day, after Severus had bathed away the dust of the fair and bid his parents good night, he covertly recorded what he was convinced had to be a prophesy, _his_ prophesy. He'd taken his good, thick black pencil and carefully inscribed the gypsy's words on the underside of his underwear drawer. 

Smiling to himself, Severus replaced the drawer then piled back in his few underthings. His Mam would be unlikely to spot what he'd written - his Da certainly wouldn't! – and it would serve as an aide to memory until such time as he could puzzle it all out. Which wouldn't be tonight - Severus was yawning as he climbed in to his narrow bed and settled down on his thin pillow – he was far too tired after such a lively day…

 

It wasn't that Severus had forgotten the gypsy's prophesy over the ensuing years, but between the intrigues and traumas he'd never quite found the energy to give it much thought. It was always there however, lurking about in the back of his mind, but there it stayed until he had to prepare his old bedroom for Wormtail's use.

He'd upended the drawer and was sneering at the pitiful contents that'd spilled on to the floor when he spotted the writing. He glanced over the phrase, absently noting in passing that his childish hand-writing was still more legible than most of his students', then froze as the words finally registered.

" _In the time of the snake…_ " Did that refer to the dark-lord, or Nagini? " _When the serpent strikes…_ " 

Still clutching the drawer, Snape sank down on to the bed. The two could be interchangeable, he supposed, but no, this age would be known for the snake-faced madman, not his pet… It followed then that the 'serpent striking' had to be Nagini. Very well but what about the next bit, the 'moon-cursed's seed'?

Oh. _Oh_.

Severus felt himself growing uncomfortably warm as he flushed seemingly from head to toe. 'Moon-cursed' could clearly be interpreted as werewolf, and 'seed' implied _male_ … 

But what did it _mean_? What was he supposed to do with the, ah, seed? Put it in a potion? Anoint himself with it? Carry it around in a vial close to his heart? And how was he supposed to… acquire… the, um…?

Severus scowled ferociously at the warped wood of the drawer's bottom. _This_ was the problem with prophesies. It was their nature to be obscure, never to be clear-cut, never _helpful_. 

And yet… He hated himself for it, but he knew he was going to grab at whatever slim, vague hope the prophesy offered. 

Severus had been in the depths of despair after killing Dumbledore. He'd fled with apparent willingness to the Dark Lord's side, subsuming any trace of his despondency. Foolishly suicidal not to, though there'd been times he'd longed for death and oblivion - and yes, he was well aware of the paradox, thank you - but there was still so much left to do and death at the Dark Lord's command was not something he courted. 

He'd survived as he'd survived everything else and now, with Dumbledore's plan nearing fruition, he found himself oddly reluctant to die. 

With a wave of his wand Severus erased the writing before replacing the drawer and disposing of its erstwhile contents. 

So. A 'moon-cursed's seed' would give him back his life, would it? Very well, he'd work out the prophesy's mechanics somehow – disregarding for the moment how he was going to harvest the, er, required ingredient…

In the meantime though, his life just continued to deteriorate. The Dark Lord was cheerfully sloughing strips of sanity like shed skin while bloody Potter was taking his sweet time getting on with the job, _despite_ unsubtle hints and suggestions from his secret friend in the Death Eaters. For Merlin's sake, how much help did the brat need? 

Frankly it was torture: the line Severus was forced to negotiate between aiding the Light and _appearing_ to aide the Dark was becoming less substantial, harder to see. Every decision he made, every step taken was fraught with peril as he plotted and juggled, always thinking several steps ahead while trying to keep Dumbledore's aims in sight. 

Being given Hogwarts was, in one way, a huge relief as that had been a major step in The Plan, but taking over as Headmaster had brought a whole slew of new stresses. 

Severus had vowed to himself on more than one occasion that if he survived this madness he was going to take a long holiday! As time wound on though, his survival seemed more and more of a chancy thing and so it was that he finally made the decision to be a little more proactive.

He'd expended a great deal of time analysing his prophesy, and had arrived at several conclusions.

1: As 'seed' was so obviously mandatory to the outcome it made sense that it be… utilised as close to its natural function as possible, therefore:

2: He needed intimate contact with a male werewolf. Specifically, he needed to be a receptacle, as such… _Oh, gods_ … Moving right along…

3: Much as it galled him the only possible candidate was Remus Lupin. 

Not that Severus trusted him any more than any of the others but Lupin at least tried to be civilized and – in Severus' admittedly uninformed opinion – if anyone was likely to fly both sides of the pitch, as it were, it would be _him_.

Face flaming, Severus stopped himself there. Did he actually believe that of the werewolf or was it merely wishful thinking? 

It wasn't something he liked to dwell on but in the dark secrecy of the locked and inviolate parts of his mind Severus could, sometimes, admit to finding Lupin just the tiniest bit… interesting. 

He'd never confess it but there'd been times over the years when he'd caught sight of the werewolf - when Lupin had turned his head _just so_ , or was smiling or laughing unguardedly – and it sparked something warm and inexcusably tender to unfurl in Severus' gut…

He understood there would be difficulties in fulfilling his prophesy but was confident, or as confident as he could be, that they wouldn't be insurmountable. Finding his target wasn't a problem, likewise convincing Lupin to engage in sexual relations was likely only a matter of persuasion, or a bottle of Old Ogden's doctored with a lust potion. 

No, Severus' primary concern was his own lack of relevant experience. It wasn't that he'd never had those base urges – he had, of course he had - but he'd never found the opportunity to explore them with someone other than himself. 

Sex had always been _there_ , he'd simply never been able to understand how to make it relate to him, specifically. It was his own fault he supposed; he'd never been an amiable individual. He'd been a prickly, unapproachable child who'd grown in to a prickly, unapproachable adult. He'd remained aloof and isolated, sailing past the shoals of intimacy, observing and analysing from a distance the ridiculous dances and posturings of attraction and mating. 

Chastity had never been an issue previously - indeed being 'pure' in this most fundamental sense could be a bonus in brewing – and you couldn't miss what you'd never experienced, correct? 

He did miss it, though, or perhaps it would be more accurate to say he sometimes found himself missing _something_ , something nebulous and indefinable, the lack of which would sometimes leave him feeling – however improbable – as if his skin was aching. 

Severus could admit to himself that pride had something to do with his lack of _amour_. A certain amount of worldliness was expected in a wizard his age; the longer he remained a virgin the more embarrassing it would be to have anyone discover the truth. 

Not that that appeared to be at all likely: no one of his acquaintance – he could hardly use the term 'friends' – had ever shown the slightest interest in him as a sexual creature. No one ever enquired as to his romantic prospects, no one ever asked who he was 'shagging'. Mind you, given his likely reaction if someone had the temerity to ask such a personal question it was no surprise people kept their distance.

Then again perhaps the idea of greasy, sour old Snape having a lover was too ludicrous to contemplate?

…o0o…

Severus knew the crisis point was finally approaching – the Dark Lord had acquired Dumbledore's wand - and there was no more time to waste.

Hogwarts was quiet, mostly empty for the Easter Holidays. After breakfast on the last day before the students returned, Severus informed his remaining staff that he was not to be disturbed for any reason then swept off to apparently seal himself in his rooms. 

In reality he made his way out of the castle by stealth, to the tunnel beneath the Whomping Willow and thence to the Shrieking Shack, the locus of some of the most humiliating moments of his life. 

He paused for a moment to sneer around at the dust and decay before meticulously setting out his equipment on a rickety table. There wasn’t much needed in this instance: a crystal dish, and a small vial containing the pulverised remains of a few of Lupin’s hairs. 

Severus sprinkled the powder into the dish then traced a complicated sigil with his wand in the air above the components. He’d modified the basic spell to not only find the target but indicate if they were alone, and within a specified amount of open space. This last was a necessary refinement as _Apparating_ in to a wall was painful, and amateurish. 

Severus’ lips quirked in a tight smile of satisfaction - the tip of his wand was glowing clear and blue – Lupin was alone. He retrieved the tainted bottle of fire whisky from a robe pocket, so he would appear with the offering in hand, then incanted the activation word… 

Materialising in to the open air took him by surprise. 

He was standing in the middle of what appeared to be a forest clearing, and not five feet away, naked, was Remus Lupin, sprawled asleep in a patch of weak sunlight. The werewolf's clothes – Snape automatically noted – were neatly folded to one side, next to a battered old Muggle thermos and a screwed up paper bag that had probably contained sandwiches. 

_Naked_ …

Severus, with great reluctance and a peculiar, swooping sensation in his stomach, then turned his gaze upon Lupin. 

The werewolf 's body was sturdier, broader than he'd anticipated: Lupin had always managed to give the impression of weediness in his threadbare clothes. His feet, though, and his toes, were surprisingly smooth and long, his calves pronounced, his thighs…

Snape swallowed and averted his eyes. He shouldn't be… It wasn't… He groaned inwardly as his cock, traitorous beast, began to rise and harden. 

Lupin stirred in his sleep, and alarmed, Severus took an involuntary step backwards. The next thing he knew the werewolf was on his feet, wand in hand and pointing unwaveringly at his throat. 

Snape instinctively froze in the face of a very real threat. He silently cursed his complacency, allowing himself to be lulled by Lupin's evinced past mildness, forgetting that werewolf senses and reflexes were not a myth. 

" _What are you doing here?_ "

Lupin's gravelled growl made him shiver - not unpleasantly – but he refused to let himself be further distracted from his quest. He fell back on his initial plan of trying to engage his quarry in conversation. 

"I have information – "  
" _Traitor_! I should kill you!" 

This wasn't going well, but at least Lupin hadn't cursed him yet. Severus watched the werewolf's grip tighten around his wand. 

"Why did you do it, Snape?"

He hid his relief behind a sneer. Lupin didn't want to kill him, he wanted to give him a chance to explain. Typical Gryffindor, so principled, so _fair_. 

And yet… Despite his best efforts Snape _was_ being distracted, by the werewolf's focus and aggression, by his danger, by his nakedness… 

Quite unconsciously, Severus licked his lips. 

Lupin blinked then frowned as he lifted his head slightly, scenting the air.

"Oh, you have got to be joking!" He snarled, catching sight of the bottle of fire whisky. "For Merlin's sake! I'm _married_! My wife is having a baby!" 

His outrage whipped across Snape, stinging him in to a furious blush. 

Severus was mortified to have his lust literally sniffed out so easily, but he gathered what he could of his dignity and looked the werewolf straight in the eye.

"I have no idea what you're talking about."

Lupin stared at him, his own blush infusing his face and neck, then he bared his teeth and dropped to a duelling crouch.

" _Leave. Now_."

Again instinct took over and Severus found himself back at the Shrieking Shack, having apparated there apparently without thought. 

He stood trembling, fists clenched at his sides, fighting for calm, for distance, for anything that would help him overcome the overwhelming humiliation. 

Not only had he run - from Lupin – he hadn't considered even the most basic offensive or defensive tactics. He hadn't even thought to obliviate the fucking werewolf! What was _wrong_ with him?   
_Curse Lupin_!

With abrupt, angry motions Severus snatched the dish and vial from the table and secreted them in his robes. He'd _known_ this was a stupid idea from the beginning, but no, he'd allowed his hunger to live to become a weakness. Fool, fool, _fool_.

Eventually, when his shame-fuelled anger had been bitten back to manageable levels and his self-respect superficially restored, Snape made his way back to his dungeons. 

He stowed the tainted bottle of fire whisky safely away from the rest of the potables before retrieving Dumbledore's _pensieve_ from its hiding place. He had planned to simply extract and conceal the incriminating memories but some masochistic trait prompted him to look at them, to wallow in his embarrassment and remind himself why approaching Lupin had been an act of monumental idiocy.

But… As an observer this time rather than a participant, Severus was struck by the subtle desperation colouring Lupin's tone when he'd thrown the fact of his marriage and impending fatherhood at him. Intriguing. Who had he been trying to convince of his disinterest? Himself, or Severus? 

Intriguing or no Severus decided he was not going to bother with another attempt at fulfilling his 'prophesy'. He would have to rely on himself and his own skills for survival. He was as alone in this as in all things - which was almost certainly for the best as experience had proved to him over and over again he could rely on no one but himself. So be it.

..o0o..

The moon, two days past full, peeked out from behind a heavy bank of cloud, illuminating the uneven ground at the cliff top.

Severus swore, scowling ferociously as he lost track of the faint glimmer that marked the plant he was seeking. Moving carefully he edged around until his back was to the offending orb and his shadow stretched out before him.

_There_!

He caught sight of the luminescence in his peripheral vision, just visible now in the artificial shade. He knelt, awkwardly, and using a plain iron-bladed knife snicked the plant off at ground level, a tricky manoeuvre when one could only keep track of a thing by not looking directly at it. 

He stowed the scrap of vegetation in the leather satchel slung across his shoulders then slowly creaked to his feet. The plant's roots were intact: he'd be able to harvest again in a few months. 

Bloody nuisance, though, that being exposed to magic destroyed _argentium millefolia_ 's potency. It would be so much easier to collect if you could simply whack a trace on it, instead of grubbing about in the dark night after night. 

Still the plant, properly processed, commanded a high price. Severus calculated that he'd gathered enough now to see him through for the next little while. 

He sighed, arching his back slowly to try and ease the ever present ache in his joints. Almost a year on from Nagini's bite and he still felt frail and crimped. It was doubtful he'd every recover fully, but then, what was the point anyway? 

He stared out moodily over the ocean, looking at but not really seeing the moonlit expanse stretching off to the west. 

Severus had always lived his life by his goals. At first it'd been to get away from his dreary homelife, then to be the top of his year, then to be better at something than James Potter and Sirius _Fucking  
_ Black. 

Moving into adulthood his goals had become less clearly defined though no less important. 

Pleasing a master – both of them! – remaining undiscovered as a spy, and keeping that bloody boy alive. 

And after the Dark Lord's betrayal, after crawling away from the Shack with his death just barely held in abeyance, Severus' goal had been merely to survive. Which he had, then he'd focused his will on regaining his health, which he also had, up to a point. 

But now what? He had no more goals, nothing to strive for. Earning enough to keep himself fed was hardly fulfilling and with his magic nearly extinguished in the wake of Nagini's attack, his long cherished dream of being free to pursue potions research – the dream that had kept him the right side of sane all these years – was all but impossible. 

What was left? Why was he still bothering to fight? 

Even though his body had never been found, Severus Snape was as good as dead to the Wizarding World. There was no one to miss him if he did, finally, disappear…

Severus shook his head irritably. The bleak thoughts were becoming quicker to gather and harder to dispel. One day they would overcome him and he wouldn't rise from his bed, or stay away from the cliffs. 

He sighed: he was tired and probably malnourished. When had he last bothered to eat? Severus wearily turned for home; perhaps he'd feel more positive after a good sleep and some food. 

He'd had to walk some distance tonight in search of harvestable plants and the trek back to his decrepit hideaway seemed to take forever. 

He plodded along the bare track, trying to muster some enthusiasm for the tin of warmed soup he'd be preparing for himself when he got back. Or maybe he'd just go straight to bed… Severus stopped suddenly, not sure if the moon's light was playing tricks with his tired eyes, or if there really was someone poised on the edge of the cliff up ahead. 

No, there was definitely somebody there. 

He paused, uncharacteristically indecisive. Had he been seen? Should he continue following the path, which would take him right past the stranger, or step off and angle inland? That way was rougher and it would take him longer to get home, added to which if he needed to run he'd be more likely to do himself an injury. 

Swallowing his paranoia, but in no way dismissing it, Severus continued along the path, moving as softly as could, until he was close enough to discern the other person's features.

_Merlin's hairy scrote_! It was Remus Lupin.

The werewolf was standing at the very edge of the cliff. He was barefoot, his long toes seemingly curling over lip. He was looking down, apparently absorbed in the sight of the waves crashing against the granite so far below. 

"Thinking of ending it all, Lupin?" Severus heard himself say. There was a pause.

"The funny thing is, it probably wouldn't kill me." Lupin replied in an odd, flat tone. "Hurt like fuck, but I'd survive."  
"Werewolves are notoriously hard to kill." Severus added after a moment.  
"So it seems." 

Lupin tore his gaze away from the waves to regard Snape with disturbingly blank eyes. 

"You're supposed to be dead." When there was no reply he turned back to his contemplation of the long drop to the churning water. "I'm supposed to be dead. I think I was, for a little while…"

Curiosity, long dormant in favour of basic survival, began to stir in Severus. Apart from the occasional brief, polyjuiced, meeting with an apothecary to sell the plants he gathered, Snape had been well out of touch with the Wizarding world. He knew the Dark Lord was dead, and that Potter had somehow survived, but as for the rest…? 

"What happened?"  
"Cursed. Apparently died. Woke up in the morgue at St Mungos." Lupin replied in a monotone. "I don't remember much."  
"Why are you _here_ , Lupin?" Suspicion made his voice sharp.  
The werewolf sighed and shrugged.  
"Needed somewhere with lots of space at the Full."  
"Are you still taking the Wolfsbane?"  
"Oh yes." Lupin looked at him then, his eyes catching the silver of the moon's light. "They don't let me forget that."

Instinct prickled a warning and for the first time during this encounter Severus really _looked_ at Lupin. 

The man was a mess; barefoot, unshaved, carelessly dressed - even the buttons on his grubby muggle shirt were misaligned. But it wasn't just the sloppy grooming that set Severus' hackles to rising, there was something else, something… dangerous about the werewolf, and gods help him if his libido wasn't taking an interest. 

Lupin blinked slowly and smirked. The werewolf advanced, head lowered and gaze fixed, just like the predator he was. 

"So, Severus…"

It occurred to Snape that he was alone out here, physically and magically weak with nothing but a small knife for defence. Lupin could do _anything_ and he was virtually powerless to stop him.

And suddenly the werewolf was right there, pressed too close, one hand reaching around to maul his arse, the other tangling in his hair.

"You smell so _good_." Lupin was snuffling against his neck. "Your fear… It's delicious…"

A flash of inspiration arced through the paralysing panic and Severus finally understood what was happening. 

He'd seen it before, with other werewolves: Remus Lupin was on the point of going feral. 

If he succumbed to the beast within, however, his life was automatically forfeit. Severus didn't question why this was unacceptable, he simply reacted. 

" _No_!" He shoved the werewolf away. "Desist, Lupin. You're not an animal!"  
" _Aren't I_?" Lupin snarled, panting. "There are plenty who'd argue that!" Then he seemed to crumble before Snape's eyes. "They won't let me see my son."  
"Then acting like a beast will not help your cause!" Snape spat. "Honestly, Lupin, you've been fighting to prove your humanity for decades, don't fucking give up now!"

The werewolf jerked as if he'd been slapped, but he didn't look up.

"I'm so tired of fighting…" He whispered, broken. 

Something twisted painfully in Severus' chest, but, if he wasn't going to let himself wallow in self-pity there was no way he'd allow Lupin to get away with it. 

"Boo hoo. So sad. Well, there's the cliff." He pointed in disgust. "Do your worst. Maybe it won't kill you but perhaps the pain will clear your head."

Lupin raised his head and glared at him with what could be malice.

"Surely you weren't expecting sympathy?" Severus' sneered, though he was secretly heartened to see something other than despair or blank resignation on the werewolf's face.   
"From you?" Lupin muttered. "Hardly."

They continued to glare at each other then Snape made an impatient noise.

"Oh for Merlin's sake… Come with me." He ordered, turning sharply on his heel and stalking off down the path.  
"…Where to?" He heard Lupin following.  
"Azkaban, where else!" He growled. "We're going to my home." He spun to face the werewolf, surprising Lupin into a stumbling halt. "And I would thank you not to use magic without first asking."  
"Very well." Lupin blinked. "May I ask why?" He couldn't help himself.  
"I have some very delicate potions ingredients in process." Severus continued on his way.  
"Is that why we're not apparating?" Lupin queried to his back.  
"Yes." Snape managed to sound as if the werewolf's trivial questions were hardly worth the effort of answering.   
"Oh, right then." There was a long pause. "Why are you helping me, Snape? I mean, I _assume_ you're helping me."  
Severus smirked nastily.  
"Far be it from me to leave a dumb animal to suffer." The answering snort almost made him grin. "And you need help, idiot. You've always needed help."

It was true. Lupin had always needed support; from his friends, colleagues, Dumbledore. He couldn't successfully function on his own for any length of time, he needed… 

He _needed_ … 

The revelation caused Snape to stumble. Had he misheard all those years ago? 

_Moon-cursed's seed.  
Moon-cursed's… need?_

He thought furiously, sifting through the ramifications, concluding in disgust that it made a trite sort of sense. He'd felt more purposeful, more _alive_ … from the moment he'd acknowledged that the dratted werewolf needed his help. 

"Severus? Are you all right?"

The gods were laughing at him!

"Yes. Yes." Snape answered impatiently. "Keep up. We've got a long way to go…"


End file.
